Dreaming of the finishing line
by stolen with the night
Summary: John Watson had almost died in Afghanistan if not for the strangely calm boy with emerald eyes who saved his life. Getting attached to the flippant child wasn't hard even with all the strange happenings that surround him. How will having a young, genius, master of death wizard affect Sherlock and Johns adventures? For an amused 'Hamish' hiding his magic isn't even the hard part.
1. Do you want to live?

**So I am obsessed with little Harry. Anyone can tell, this is my third little master of death story. All of them are on going and if anyone likes this story i'll keep this one going too. **

**Disclaimer: Ugh I own nothing. Honestly if I did, I would be super rich and super famous aaaaand I'm not so... Oh and this is an un-betaed story so I do apologise for any mistakes made in advance.**

**Shall we?**

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><p>The sounds of war filled the air. Guns shooting off in every direction, at this point it didn't matter who you hit as long as you fired. The screams of the dying were like a fire cracker in a small empty space, devastating but if you looked in the other direction you could ignore it well enough. The dark red of blood splattered almost artistically marked the disturbed sand as a land of war. Those who knew it's terrors were well acquainted with death, at least that was what they liked to think.<p>

Humans were quite stupid but what was he really expecting, they just didn't understand. He couldn't blame them though, while he was human he didn't see the full picture either. Life was a war for him and wars can be contained in small spaces, but living as long as he had made you see things that short periods of time just didn't allow. They were all like that, the humans, like fireworks, in his opinion, rising from birth, shining with age and experience, scattering and finally fading. Perhaps they didn't make a loud bang but he could watch the exploding colours of their so called mundane lives in rapt fascination for eternity, not that he had a choice really. Still he rather liked it.

Emerald eyes observed the chaos from above. He loved watching from above, being on the ground made him feel apart of the chaos. It was fun when he wanted something to do but observing was more of his thing. Interfering with life wasn't his job, he could if he truly wished but they deserved the right to pave their own paths, even if they were paving in the direction of a cliff top. So what was it that nobody ever sees when they are caught up in their so called lives? Sometimes the questions are the complicated part and the answer is the simple part. That would be his response if anyone were to ask him.

Looking down he watched as a single soldier who had captured his attention for weeks now darted across the field. He smiled to himself, this one, this one was going to be great someday. He didn't know how, he couldn't see the future but he knew it with a smirk of confidence that this one was going to make it. All he needed to do was survive and he was going to make sure he did.

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><p>John Watson ignored the deafening echoes of bullets hitting live bodies in favour of keeping the soldier he now held alive. Blood gushed out his chest were a bullet had nicked the mans heart. He knew that this man wouldn't survive, he didn't have the equipment or space to preform the needed surgery. He knew this but instead he kept a large wad of fabric pressed onto the wound trying in vain to stem the bleeding. Even if he did though it would never stop the internal bleeding. This man was going to die and he knew that but still he never gave up. He had seen many die and very few had he saved. This man who he didn't know, whose name he could never bring himself to remember, he couldn't say he cared at the time, this man he wanted to save more than anything.<p>

It was selfish he knew that, because he didn't want to save this man for anything but himself. He wanted to bring life into the battlefield. He was sick of people dying, he hated it. Tears of frustration and sorrow made their way into his eyes as he tried to restart the mans heart. It was useless, he knew this as well, the man had been dead for at least forty seconds now, he was gone yet through blurred vision he kept trying to bring back the life to this corpse.

Sobs racked his body as he finally pulled his hands away. It just wasn't fair, things weren't fair, life was not fear. He pushed his blood soaked hands over his face leaving long strips of red to mingle with salty tears as red rimmed eyes closed. He just wanted it to end. He needed it to be quiet, he needed silence. He needed to sort his thoughts out and he couldn't do it with the death that surrounded him. He kept his eyes closed afraid to see the splattered blood along the sand, he didn't want to see the corpse of the man he had failed, he wanted to keep his eyes closed like a child hiding from the monsters. And to be honest that was exactly what it felt like, only now he didn't have mother's warm hugs and soothing voice to run to at the end of a nightmare. Because this wasn't a nightmare, this was reality and nobody could run from reality.

The screams of the people suddenly intensified but he kept his eyes closed. It was odd even in this setting to see a man next to corpse kneeling with his eyes closed and blood streaked through his wild mousy blonde hair and running down his face. He blocked out the sounds rather well, he was enveloped in his own silence. It was...nice. He didn't know if it made him a coward or not.

A single gunshot was the only thing he heard, strange considering he had managed to block out every other noise. His eyes flickered open to take a glance before they swiftly shut again. It was him, he had been shot. The adrenalin coursing through his body was numbing any pain he would have felt from the wound. It wasn't critical, not at all, it had hit somewhere along his shoulder line. He couldn't say accurately the blood covered it up and he was too tired to take another look. He knew he would die though, he was losing blood quickly and soon he would die of blood loss and he would let himself.

He didn't want this anymore, the fighting, the danger. But then again that's what he always told himself and in the end he would find himself craving the adrenalin rush that war gave him. Living on the edge, never knowing if you would live to see the next day, that's what he wanted, no, what he needed. He was sick, at times he felt revolted at himself for wanting war and danger like a druggie on heroine but what could do? He craved it with a pathetic passion. And now he would die, because if he didn't the army would never let him back on the field with his wound.

He managed a humourless smile when he felt the edge of his conscious blur. So this is what it's like to die. It didn't feel to bad.

"It never does." An amused voice sounded into his hearing range.

His eyes shot open with the speed of lightning, darting around the place to locate the owner of the young voice. He had to be going crazy. No way was there, in the middle of a battlefield between two different sides, a child. But there he was, crouched in front of him with shining emerald eyes and a mess of pretty black curls. He looked to be no older than nine maybe ten with pale skin that didn't quite fit in with the current location with it's ever present harsh rays of light.

He watched completely dumbfounded as the child poked his bloodied wound with mild interest.

"I may not be a doctor but I do believe that you are losing a lot of blood and does that not lead to death?" His voice was smooth and teasing despite the killing that was going on around him.

His head cocked to the left slightly but John was too busy marvelling at the extended vocabulary that the boy used. His voice lacked the slurs and mispronunciation that children his age tended to have. It was almost scary, he observed, how the boy ignored all around him and looked at him as if greeting an old acquaintance he hadn't seen in a long time. Calm but with a tinge of excitement.

Trying his hardest he spoke over the loud noises but not coming close to the quiet yet loud voice the child had used.

"What are you doing here." It was a stupid question and he blamed his fading conscious for it but it seemed to amuse the child further.

"Ahhh, I don't know. One day I was with my two best friends in London and the next, well here I am." He replied with a happily flippant smile causing John to start.

Kidnapped! This boy had been kidnapped and just like that he had found a reason to keep living for a while longer. He needed to get this boy to safety, he need to bring him home to the family who was no doubt looking for him. They were probably breaking apart right in this moment, tears streaming down their faces and plain denial in their countenance. In this land of death there still stood a spark of life in this crazily calm child whose life now rested in his hands. He needed to get him out of the gunfire.

Ignoring his own blurred vision he unsteadily got into his feet surprising the boy slightly.

"Hey, I don't think you should do that." He pointed out still crouching but now looking up at him.

He ignored the remark and focused solely on grabbing the child's hand and half ran half limped to the trench. He pushed himself to the limit. He heard the noise of gushing blood. It was most likely his, he couldn't feel anything, in fact, he couldn't see anything but still he kept at it no matter how many times he stumbled. But It was not meant to be as he soon lost control of his legs and he found himself blind, paralysed and his face half in the sand.

Tears streamed down his face once more. "NO! No, no, no, no. Please god, please. I CANT! DAMN YOU, I CANT!"

Couldn't he do anything right? Was he to fail another innocent, spill more blood on his hands. He just wanted to save him and here he was dying and leaving the child in enemy hands. Rage filled him, he was pathetic. Why couldn't he do this at least!

"Hey, I didn't get your name." came the calm voice of the child he could no longer see.

His sobbing lessened but he didn't give his name instead he spitted out apologies over and over again. "I'm so sorry. I cant- sorry, sorry, sorry. Please forgive me! No don't forgive me I don't deserve it. Oh god I'm so sorry."

The child just listened, waiting before speaking again. He most likely didn't know his fate. Of course he didn't a child could never understand death.

"Your name." he asked again. This time he couldn't keep down a smile in between his body racking sobs. Only an innocent child would think a name was important during a time like this.

"Names are important. A name can tell us who people really are." the child said. Did he say that out loud, he must of if the child answered.

"John, my name is John Watson." He choked out with a laugh.

"John...Well John, do you want to live?" The child asked.

Did he want to live? Of course he did! He had to get this child home, he wanted to save people, be a real doctor. He wanted to meet a pretty girl and fall in love with her, they would get married, it was going to be a garden wedding. His best man would be his best friend who was annoying but loyal and the two of them would have the greatest type of friendship. His wife and him would have children, well mannered and smart, maybe they would be like the emerald eyed child. He would happily through the years with his wife and friend, watching as his children got married and have their own kids. He would then die happily in his sleep of old age.

But what did that matter now? He would die here in the dessert sun surrounded by people he had failed, including the innocent child next to him.

"Yes. I really do want to live." He said a whole new batch of tears appearing.

The child was silent but he had the oddest feeling that he was being smiled at. Just as he though the child was no longer there he felt a small hand pet his hair soothingly.

"Go to sleep John. When you wake up everything will be all right." He said as if there wasn't a war going on around them.

And just like that he gave in to the dark fog in his mind, praying to a god he no longer believed in that this child who didn't deserve death, survived.

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><p><strong>So there you go! Tell me if you like it? I don't know...<strong>

**Waiting, **

**Stolen with the Night~~**


	2. The wise owl Hamish

**Wow guys! You are so amazing! Thankyou everyone who reviewed the first chapter for this story. I cant believe this fic would get that much attention for something that was honestly a plot bunny :D But it did so I have been encouraged to keep the fic up and running. For those of you who are just reading my little story now, I hope you like it.**

**Okay, disclaimer time!**

**Stolen: Mrs. Huddddddsoooon!**

**Mrs Hudson: Yes dear?**

**Stolen: Mrs Hudson if you could read this please **

***Hands over script***

**Mrs Hudson: *clears throat* Stolen...with the ah night does not own anything recognisable. Oh dear that reminds me of my husband, he told me I owned nothing but-****Stolen: That's nice Mrs Hudson! Anyway, you heard the landlady I own nothing.**

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><p><em>A wise old owl lived in an oak, <em>

_The more he saw,_

_The less he spoke._

_The less he spoke,_

_The more he heard,_

_Why cant we all be,_

_Like that wise little bird?_

Harry, for as long as he had been death itself had lived by this stupid children's rhyme. Like that wise little bird he liked to keep silent at times where silence was more than needed, not that others could tell when this time was. He knew this as they yabbered on about silly things most of the time that left him wanting to spear his own ears with the yellow HB pencil that for the last twenty minutes had been rocking with his small pulses of magic sent out solely to amuse himself, the chatter had been fun for a while.

He liked doing that, observing with mirth filled eyes as the young mortals buzzed about with their lives. Like ants, only interesting ants that he, despite everything, wanted to live long and plentiful lives, even if they sometimes annoyed him with their stupid actions. But he likened it to little children touching the hot stove out of curiosity, let them learn and later they would heal.

It was however, amongst the tedious chattering that just like the owl, he heard all he needed. They didn't directly give information, no, but that was the great thing about small implications and inferring. He had had time to figure out how to get data from such conversations and small body ticks. Sitting there on a rickety bench outside the nurses office where he had apperated and then dragged- for show- the bleeding body of John Watson he listened and gleaned any information on the soldier.

He was a doctor, that much he already knew seeing as he had tried to revive an already dead body with all of the finesse of a crazy cat, but hey, war did that to a person. He would know. The doctor was British, again he knew from the accent he spoke with. Everything he got was useless and things he could have gotten more details out of if he just looked at the man.

But one thing that caught his attention was the clip board that was being waved about by a nurse who he knew was having an affair with a surgeon that walked past a while ago. Passing her the tips of his fingers brushed her side, even if it were an accident the nurse would have unconsciously shifted. It just so happens she didn't and subtly leaned in to it and going by the shiny new ring on the mans left hand, he wont be leaving his wife any time soon, poor girl was selling herself out to a man who couldn't have his needs fulfilled because his lovely wife was soon to be giving birth. He had no doubt that when the child was born the nurse would be in for some heart break, but like he said, let the children learn.

There in black printer ink was the words that would have John validated from the army. A shattered bone and a graze on his subclavian artery where the jezail bullet sank through his flesh. It wasn't life threatening as they had managed to stop the bleeding and reset the bone but Harry knew that that kind of wound took months to heal let alone allow proper usage of the limb. So with one hundred percent certainty he knew that John Watson would be sent home. Such a shame, but perhaps it would be for the best.

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><p>...<p>

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><p>Gaining consciousness John let all of his senses return to him one by one. The first thing that came back to him was his hearing and from the blurs of darkness he heard the mechanical beeps and noises of different monitors. Next, came his vision and the harsh white lights of the painfully blank room invaded his mind with the disorienting sterile smell of bleach and sanitizer, so chemically harsh he could practically taste the acid on his tongue.<p>

A hospital, he was in an army hospital. Why was he in an army hospital? He clenched his eyes shut searching his mind for the answer.

_A single gunshot was the only thing he heard._

He had been shot, that's right. Somewhere on his shoulder line. He glanced to his left to see his shoulder wrapped in pristine white gauze. He couldn't feel any pain so it was safe to assume that he had been put on a small dosage of morphine as he wasn't feeling dizzy. One glance to the iv bag hanging above him on his right confirmed his suspicions.

_So this is what it's like to die. It didn't feel too bad._

He had been ready to give up, ready to die but what stopped him?

_"It never does." An amused voice sounded into his hearing range._

A child, what was a child doing on a battlefield again? What was he seven? Flashes of emerald green and black with mirth filled smiles passed his mind. He had smiled at him, completely ignoring the death that the surrounded him. He looked at home there with nothing but John to pay attention to. What had happened to the child?

_"NO! No, no, no, no. Please god, please. I CANT! DAMN YOU, I CANT!"_

He had failed that child, was he somewhere where his tiny body was being trampled on by rough men with heavy firearms. He could hear it, the snapping of delicate bones that hadn't had the chance to fully develop as dirt covered boots crunched over them leaving post mortem bruises like a sick parody on water colour painting. Bright emerald green eyes that fizzed with calm and hints of amusement now glazed over with death. Dulled to a backwater green, to never close with peace as those animals would never take the time to offer the child the respect he deserved.

_"Names are important. A name can tell us who people really are."_

His stomach clenched in pain thinking about it, no one would know. His family and friends who looked for him would never find him. And if they did... His body would be listed as a casualty of war and he would just be an unknown, another statistic, a number in a book full of numbers. Who was he really? What was _his _name?

_"John...Well John, do you want to live?"_

He had said yes. Sobs racked his body once more for the child's sake, he was such a selfish person. So, so, so, very much a selfish person. This child who clearly was the one who somehow got him here, oh god. He couldn't finish the thought as more tears ran down his face. He didn't care that he looked like a whining baby, or that his eyes were red, or even that his face had swollen up instead he mourned for his little guardian angel that had saved him and payed the price.

"It cant hurt that much." came the voice that would haunt him for the rest of his years.

He closed his eyes and cupped his hands over his ears. It was all in his head, that was all.

"Do you want me to get a nurse?" This time there was a hint of concern in the calm but still childish voice.

A light touch on his shoulder had John stilling. Your mind couldn't make you feel things physically. Slowly, as if not daring to believe himself, he turned to see the exact same child with brilliant green eyes and locks of black ink. He reached a hand out to touch a stray piece in disbelief. A solid form was felt against his finger tip, he was real and there.

"You're-you're...alive?" If this were any other circumstance John would have winced at how pathetic he sounded but considering all that had happened he decided to let himself off.

All the humour from the battlefield returned to the child's eyes once more as he threw his head back in a tinkling laugh.

"Jeez, yeah I'm alive. Trust me, it takes some serious force to keep me dead." He said between laughs confusing John entirely.

Once he stopped laughing John had no idea on what to say and with the very little finesse he possessed he blurted out his questions.

"What's your name? Did you get hurt? How did you get me here? How long have I been out for?...And why do speak like..that?"

The boy raised an eyebrow and for a moment he was sure he had offended him until a small grin stretched across his face.

"I'm not hurt, thanks for asking. I dragged you here, you're heavy you know that? But I blame muscle mass. You've been out for three days. The nurses aren't nice here by the way, but I suppose that's because I told one of the nurses that her best friend was sleeping with her boyfriend, which she was. And how exactly do I speak?"

John fumbled for words once more, "Like that, like I don't know...not like a kid." Once again he yearned to wince at his lack of eloquence.

The child nodded his head in understanding but looked up to John with a deadpan expression. "It's not my fault people my age are stupid."

There seemed to be more to it than that but he shrugged it off. So what, the boy was smarter than most. He could deal with that, in fact, he thought it was amazing, brilliant.

He cleared his throat quietly but still garnering the boys attention. "And your ah name?"

"What about it?"

"Well I cant just keep calling you boy." At this the child's features darkened slightly. It was harder to see than the open amusement he seemed to find in everything.

"No, I suppose you cannot. But I have no interest in names at this point."

John felt confusion buzz through him but decided not to push the child, he had been through enough. "How about I give you one for now, until you're ready to give me yours?"

An easy going smile appeared on his face. "Sure, why not?"

John cleared his throat nervously. "Ahh how about...Angel?"

At this a large chesire cat grin swallowed the easy going smile on the child's face. Thankfully he didn't say anything but the glowing eyes that were alight with immense amusement was enough to have John go pink in the face from embarrassment. Was he really that see through?

"No, umm how about Hamish?" He said offering his middle name.

The boy seemed to consider it. "What relation does it have to you?"

Confusion was becoming a normal thing to feel around the boy. "Sorry?"

"You seem fond of the name that's all..." Once more, there was more to be said but the boy didn't elaborate and John didn't ask.

"It's my middle name." He mumbled sheepishly.

"Well I like it. Hamish, it's Scottish for James is it not? I like the name James but not on me so Hamish it is." He stated candidly.

John smiled brightly at the boy who in return offered a small smirk. "So Hamish...was the nurse really having an affair with her best friends boyfriend?"

Hamish looked at him with startled eyes and for once John saw a young boy in them.

"Of course John! Didn't you see her feet?!" Or not...

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><p>It had been like that for the past few weeks, the boy would come and keep him company during the day and disappear through out the night. No one knew where Hamish went but he was always at the open door of the hospital at exactly six o'clock, visiting hours. John as much as he asked, could not find out where his small angel would go during the night. Where exactly did kidnapped children go?<p>

Hamish in all his emerald glory was an enigma. An enigma that John was quickly coming attached to. He would worry about him all through the night, anticipate his coming and despise the end of visiting hours that once again led to him worrying again. He knew that getting close to Hamish wasn't a good idea considering he had to leave soon. Hamish had been the one to comfort him with warm silence and a light hand on his almost healed shoulder after he was told he was being validated from the army. Of course he wanted to leave but when it came down to it he knew he could never live without the action the front line provided.

He had no idea where he would go, Harry and he weren't exactly on the best terms at the moment. Something he knew Hamish knew, he was brilliant! Hamish always knew things, he never explained how only that he saw and he ever shared his knowledge with anyone but John. It took a few days for him to figure out that though Hamish found people entirely too entertaining he never really trusted them. It made him smile every time Hamish showed how much trust he put into John right up to the point where he had found a place for him to go.

_"London, you could come to London with me." He ordered more than asked._

_John spit out the orange juice he was attempting to swallow and watched as it flew all over the bed sheets causing Hamish to poke his tongue out slightly and scrunch his nose cutely in what was supposed to be a disgusted expression. For a shameful second John had the greatest urge to shove the young seven year old in front of something really gross just to see the expression again._

_"I don't think that's a good idea Hamish..." He muttered while uselessly brushing the juice of the blanket with his hands and only serving to dampen the fabric more._

_"Why not? You have no where to go, family isn't really an issue for you and I don't want to go with anyone else." Hamish whined causing John to snort._

_"I'm not an officer anymore Hamish, what am I supposed to say to your parents? 'Yeah, hi, I just came back from Afghanistan and thought that while I'm here in good ole London I could drop your kid off."_

_Hamish blinked resembling a confused puppy. "Didn't I tell you John? I don't have parents, or a family. I'm an orphan."_

_"Then why were you kidnapped?!" Feeling both confused and sympathetic but by now he knew not to show that to the boy he would only translate it as pity and if there was one thing Hamish hated it was pity._

_Hamish shrugged with a yawn looking absolutely bored. "Dunnoooo. never asked the people. Not that I could see them or anything but they're dead now. The place got blasted to kingdom come." _

_At this Hamish gave a wicked smile that John decided to ignore for his own sake. Hamish was with holding information again but try as he might Hamish was a master at avoiding things the worst part was he did with tact and you don't even realise you've been stared away until you next remember._

_"I wont go with anyone else John, I swear it and you know I keep to my word." He said solemnly._

_John dropped his head and into his open palm. "Hamish it's illegal."_

_"Soooooooo?" Dangerously gleaming emerald met blue in an extremely tempting manner. Would there ever be a day where he would turn down adventure?_

And that was why John Watson now stood waiting for the little boy, ready to board a plane that would take them to London, England. At first he was very much concerned over the fact he was in the laws eyes kidnapping Hamish but as different scenarios played in his head involving the child he became more compliant. Besides he heard the foster care system was harsh. Yes, Hamish would be better off with him, illegal or not.

"John!" Said child ran at him with black locks flying in the wind like ribbons and eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ready to go John?" He asked beaming up at the dirty blonde.

"Yes, uh, just let me get my crutches." John bent down to pick up the standard crutches completely missing the narrowed eyes of Hamish but by the time he was up the boy was smiling brightly again.

"Shall we?"

"Yah! Let's go John!" Hamish skipped happily towards the small plane twirling every now and then for the fun of it.

Yes, John had his work cut out for him but then again he wouldn't have it any other way.

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><p><strong>There we go guys! I hope you liked it :) Let me know if you did yeah? Also I want to thank all the people who, favourite, followed and review my little story...again.<strong>

**Let me know if you have any suggestions or questions. Okay!**

**Thanks for taking the time to read,**

**Stolen with the Night~~**


	3. Pumpkin ice cream and Raven curls

**Hey guys, wow, thanks for the great response I got for the last chapter and I'll have you know it garnered a quick update :) So one again thanks for all of your support!**

**As per usual I. Own. Nothing. Zilch, zero, nada, unfortunately so...I hate my life.**

**Okay, let's go.**

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><p>It had been a while, he couldn't say how long exactly, time never worried him, he had eternity after all. Don't need to be time conscious when clocks evolve more than you do. No longer did anyone use the old grandfather clocks instead they were always on their cell phones and despite wearing digital watches they never really looked at them for the time preferring to use their iPhones and other technological devices. Technology didn't really like him to say the least. He had learned to control the pulse of his magic that scrambled devices but he still held an odd fear of technology from his school days. The only electric powered anything that he could honestly say he enjoyed were his mobile which he had magically transfigured (which frustratingly took him hours) and the mystical iPods in which he had saw toddlers younger (looking) than him with. Moments after seeing the holy being that was the IPod he swore to himself he would get one as he wasn't willing to spend tortuous hours on making one, like he said magic and technology don't coexist peacefully.<p>

If Harry or rather Hamish really wanted to know how long he had been here in London with John in this tiny one room apartment he would only have to look at John. John as a former military man was a very scheduled person and it was because of this John always got the same cropped hairstyle at the same time at the start of every month. So, looking back on the blurred days that ran through his head at a mile a minute he would say...

"Three months."

"Exactly!" Hamish said jumping high while walking and twirling down the busy paths of the town.

"Exactly what?" John asked distractedly as he tried to catch one of the child's straying hands in an attempt to keep him close.

It was a stupid idea considering Hamish didn't like to leave him for too long and when he did he couldn't say where he went simply because he didn't know. At first he had worried like the mother hen he feared he was turning into before Hamish turned up out of nowhere gushing about IPods and their 'heavenly existence.' Other times Hamish would come back covered in god knows what and would never tell him where he had been and if he did then the answer was always vague. Extremely vague. So, by now despite not liking it he let Hamish do his thing. In fact, they had made a routine of it.

Whenever Hamish disappeared John found himself sitting in his one bedroom apartment with a packet of gummy snakes, caramel popcorn and oddly enough pumpkin flavoured ice cream, all of which were Hamish's favourites. He would wait for his return and the two would sit, eat and watch horrible TV together until they fell asleep, well, until John fell asleep. Caring for Hamish was hard considering the boy seemed to have no self sustaining skills as if he could live on forever without eating, drinking and even sleeping but John, though he would never admit it, secretly loved doing every little domestic thing for the boy. But now, he was broke and in serious need of a job and another cheap place to stay.

"Nothing~~" Hamish sung chirpily and honestly reminding John of a small bipolar bird.

Another quirk of Hamish's that he had quickly started to adore. At times Hamish was a happy-go-lucky child of seven years who had an obsession with IPods, anything pumpkin flavoured and owls and at others he would become quiet and thoughtful often serving as an additional therapist with ready wise and sympathetic words for him. At both times he knew that Hamish although not seemingly was still categorising everything he saw, felt and heard, hiding the information away until he next needed it. Something that John still couldn't help but be amazed by despite the fact that Hamish never revealed his findings if only to gain some sort of entertainment out of it. Another quirk of his, he loved messing with people.

"So my educated guess is...you're looking for a job but you're worried about leaving me alone and at the same time considering putting me into school. I wouldn't bother, I've completely finished my education y'know. Shame on you John! Wanting me to a slum it with the plebeians!" Hamish chided jokingly.

Knowing he wasn't finished with his monologue John kept silent and with a smile he prepared his arm to twirl the half skipping half dancing child while at the same time trying not to trip from walking with his crutch, in which Hamish had taken an instant hating to claiming that he didn't need it. Though Hamish complained about it he never made a move to take it away respecting Johns wishes, another thing he loved about the boy.

"Also, we're moving, well, at least you would like to. Honestly I would like to too but who would take in an ex army doctor with a _supposedly_ crook leg and a technically kidnapped child. Not to mention our financial situation." Here Hamish rolled his eyes and as an after thought he tacked on one last sentence happily. "I hate your therapist by the way. She's stupid and doesn't do her job right."

"Hamish." John warned but felt himself fighting back a smile at hs wards bluntness when it came to people he didn't like.

"Sorry John. It's just by now she _should _be able to tell your tremors aren't..." He mumbled the rest.

"What was that?" Asked John.

"Nothing! Now, don't worry about your job John. Right now it's looking after me and soon the right opening will shoot up, after all who would turn down an Army doctor? As for the new place...well I get the feeling something will come available." Hamish practically squealed.

In that moment John felt the immense need to pick the boy up and spin him until he almost choked on his twinkling laughter and he would have if not for his leg. A small pang of sadness hit him when he realised his leg would prevent him from doing a lot with Hamish. Something that made him feel sincerely remorseful, he really did adore Hamish's laugh. It was like sunshine on a rainy day, even if Hamish hated the sun. Looking at the small half singing form he promised to make it up to him in any way he could.

"Hey, why don't we go get some pumpkin ice cream?" John asked warmly.

"Yessssh!" Hamish squealed and pushed John in the direction of the last ice cream vendor he had seen.

"Careful of my leg Hamish." John said as he huffed out a laugh causing Hamish to once again roll his eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with your leg Johnny. One of the few things your therapist got right and you know what-" Hamish was cut off by the sound of someone calling John in the distance.

"Do you hear that?" He asked the former militant.

"No." John answered after a moment of listening.

"John! John Watson!"

Walking up to them in a half run was an older man wearing a tan coat and a tie that almost had Hamish flinching from it's attention catching colours- red and gold. With an almost bitter smile Hamish took in every detail about the man he needed. His eyes subtly watched and categorised the small things that made this man before passing him off. It was nothing unusual to see a professor near the hospital where he teaches especially since this one had the same medical education as John.

John looked at the man in obvious befuddlement until the man decided to introduce himself.

"Stamford. Mike Stamford."

At this John started with slow realisation causing Hamish to with hold another eye roll. He had been doing that a lot lately.

"Oh right sorry, yeah. Hi Mike." John went in to shake his hand.

"Yes I know, I got fat." Mike said with a genuine laugh.

"No, no." The army doctor weakly protested.

"So, who's the kid then? Not yours is he?" Mike said happily but with an undertone of seriousness.

"Oh ah- this is Hamish and I'm...looking after him." John said with a secret glance to said child as Mike looked between them completely unaware of their private joke.

"Pleasure to meet you sir." Hamish said skipping up to the man and sticking his hand out.

Mike shook his hand and looked at John with an impressed smile causing a swell of pride to rush through the former militant. John feeling every bit like an accomplished father pushed his chest out with a somewhat cocky grin on his face. No child was better than Hamish was.

"And you too Hamish. Bright lad this one. So John, last I heard you were abroad getting shot at. What happened?"

"I got shot." John joked pathetically.

The awkward silence that would have happened was broken before it started when Hamish threw his head back releasing the bell like laughter that John loved.

"Oh gosh John. It's funny cause it's true! Well Mister Stamford, John and I are going to get some ice cream. Would you like to accompany us?" Hamish said while wiping a non existent tear from the corner of his emerald eyes.

"Sound great."

* * *

><p>Hamish took a large lick of the orange ice cream that sat dangerously in the waffle cone it adorned as he listened with complete amusement as his little mortal complained to his former colleague about his life while attempting to down the coffee he quite transparently didn't like.<p>

"I cant afford London on an army pension. Not to mention I have Hamish." John said almost nonchalantly.

"Ah yah cant bare to be any where else. That's not the John Watson I know." Mike responded.

Hamish felt John bristle beside him. "Yeah well I'm not the John Watson you know." He put a small hand on the doctor as if preventing a barrage of negative emotion from spilling but never broke eye contact with his pumpkin flavoured ice cream.

"Couldn't Harry help?" Against his side he could feel Hamish freeze and just as he was about to turn around and do what ever it took to make the child comfortable again Hamish carried on eating his ice cream. So with hesitation he refocused on Mike.

"Yeah like that's going to happen." He said with a scoff.

"I don't know, flat share or something."

"C'mon who would want me for a flatmate" He said seriously and then added on with a light teasing tone, "Or Hamish for that matter. A real witch that one."

Here Hamish laughed, this time the twinkling sound echoing completely different than usual. "Actually John. I'm a wizard not a witch."

"You're the second person to say that to me today." Mike piped up.

"Who was the first?" John asked and Hamish's attention was peaked when a lazy secretive smile appeared out of place on the medical professors face.

"C'mon you two, I think I know someone who can be of assistance." He said while getting up and disposing of his coffee cup.

Eyes twinkling Hamish jumped to his feet. Getting right in Johns face he giggled excitedly and said, "John did you see that smile?! We have to go! What fuuuuun~~"

"Alright, alright. Calm down Hamish, let's go." John grabbed his crutches from beside him and hobbled after his former colleague while trying to keep track of the bouncing, pink cheeked child.

* * *

><p>Hamish looked around at the different vials of various sizes and contents with nostalgia. It all reminded him of a life of a sad little boy playing hero from a long time ago. It seemed that his adventures with John always ended with him being reminded of something he never wished to remember. Call it running away but to face the past took a strong person and despite all his power he held no strength. Not anymore, not after everything.<p>

He was cut from his unwanted thoughts by sensing an upcoming person. Looking down he realised he was still skipping and the obnoxiously fake smile was still on his face. He shouldn't be surprised, he was good at smiling despite the lack of actual emotion in them. Sometimes it made him sad to think that no one noticed. Around John his laughs became real, it couldn't be helped really, the was too funny sometimes. Especially around women.

Entering another lab Hamish took notice of the man standing over a microscope and instantly his eyes regained their sparkle. Hamish knew he was the only one who saw it but from the moment they walked through the door the man had begun observing them. Deciding to have a little fun he let his body relax and assumed all the signs of a high ranking criminal. From the confident yet weary body language right down to their funny little tick of keeping their hands from view. A subconscious want to keep anyone seeing the figurative blood on their hands. Instantly he could see the man shift slightly as held back a maniacal cackle. He could see why the man was rather torn on his reading, he was too young to be a threat to anyone. Well at least he looked it besides he didn't want anyone to know him. He was Hamish and Harry was to be locked away until it was time to go.

"Mike can I borrow your phone. There's no signal on mine." Came the deep timbre of the mans voice but still he didn't look up.

It seemed the guy had figured out why they were here. It was pretty obvious all things considering. Mike had been talking to this guy about people who couldn't stand him, Mike returns later with a man with a psychosomatic limp, military gait and hair style with stiff but coordinated movements, all of which signs of an army officer. But of course sine he has a 'limp' one can only assume that he has been discharged for some wound, shoulder obviously from the way John tends to favour one arm. Fresh out of the service, he couldn't possibly have a job and is therefore low on funds especially with a child. He can tell I'm with John because of how John has a tendency to hover protectively over me, an instinct beaten into him through war. What do low on cash people with children do for a roof over their heads? Flat share.

"What's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked walking towards a bench.

"I prefer to text." Here Hamish couldn't help but agree, texting was less awkward.

"Sorry it's in my coat." Mike apologised not in the least sounding sorry.

Ever the nice human being John offered his own phone having Hamish internally wincing. From that one phone this man could practically tell Johns life story. He would know.

"Oh, thankyou." Raven curls said while moving towards them.

"This is an old friend of mine. John Watson and his little buddy is Hamish..." Mike trailed of silently baiting for a last name that he pretended to be oblivious of.

Whipping the phone open to text raven curls didn't look up when he spoke. "Iraq or Afghanistan?"

Seeing the smug smile once more appear on Mikes face Hamish let a smirk appear on his own. It was nothing he couldn't figure out by himself, along with his military twitches John also had a tan line. Places at war at the moment that had a climate that could have a harsh tropic sun? Only two, Iraq and Afghanistan.

"Sorry?" John said confused and pulling the same face he did when Hamish said something he couldn't find any connection with.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" Raven curls asked once more.

"Afghanistan, sorry how do you-" John was cut off by the entrance of a slim red head wearing a lab coat and had a huge obvious crush on raven curls. Well it was obvious to Hamish maybe not to others yet considering she hadn't even spoken yet.

"Ah Molly, coffee, thankyou."

Molly shyly offered the cup to him.

"What happened to the lipstick?" He asked looking at her lips where Hamish could see the outlines of faded red. He held back a sigh, freshly put on to attract attention and then removed minutes later. Clearly raven curls shot her down.

"It wasn't working for me." She replied.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement, your mouths too small now." He said waving his hand flippantly reminding John of Hamish for a moment.

"Okay." She squeaked out and made a move to run from the room when Hamish shot his hand out to catch her wrist.

As she paused in shock Hamish noticed the whole lab had gone silent and everyone was watching him. Still in silence Hamish displayed the gentlemanly behaviour he had been brought up with from his days as a Lord and now such manners had been lost to the world as he brought the slim hand to his cheek to rest on.

"I never got to introduce myself, something I know I would regret if I just let you walk out of this room. My name is Hamish, and yours my lady?" He asked suavely despite his age.

"Mol-Mo-Molly Hooper." She once more squeaked out face completely red from the princely manners displayed by the seven year old.

"Well beautiful Miss Hooper, please enjoy your day." With that he lowered her hand to bow over it and place a kiss on the air above her hand.

Having completely forgotten the heart braking incident from moments ago, Molly nodded happily and left. Seeing she was gone Hamish turned towards the stunned group.

"True ladies like Miss Hooper are beings that men honestly don't deserve. Since we've been blessed with them should we not treat them like the queens they are?" He asked nonchalantly knowing he was right anyway. It was hard to find women like Molly in todays society. Another reign of silence followed.

Raven curls cleared his throat. "How do you feel about the violin?" He asked the two.

"Sorry what?" John asked.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end...would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." He said with a smile.

Hamish inwardly cheered, he was right. Again.

"You told him about us." John said to Mike.

"Not a word." Mike replied failing to look nonchalant as he 'examined' a vial.

"I did, I told Mike this morning that it would be difficult to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend and his ward, just home from military service in Afghanistan, was no difficult leap."

Here Hamish agreed and decided to speak once more. "The violin doesn't bother us, nor does silence but.."

Seeing he had caught the man's attention he continued on. "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other right?"

"Right." The man agreed.

"Good because I have a tendency to disappear. No one knows where I go and I like it that way, I could be gone for an hour sometimes three days. Depends really. I change moods quickly and as you have already noticed I'm smarter than most idiots my age. Sometimes I don't sleep, like at all and sometimes I bring home owls just because I like them. Technology sometimes doesn't work around me. Oh yeah and John acts like a mother hen and will probably arrested for kidnapping in the future. That doesn't bother you does it?"

The man paused to think but Hamish could see the burning curiosity behind his eyes. "Not really, no."

"Good." He said with a bright smile.

"He was-ah-joking about the kidnapping thing. Such a little kidder this once." John said nervously while ruffling Hamish's ink locks. Both Hamish and Raven curls stared at him in a way that screamed 'really?'

"I got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We meet there tomorrow evening seven O'clock. Sorry gotta dash, left my riding crop in the mortuary." Raven curls said to John once more ignoring Hamish.

"Is that it?" John asked in disbelief.

"Is that what?" Raven curls asked but Hamish knew that he knew what John was asking.

"We only just met and now we're going to go look at a flat together."

"Problem?"

"We don't know a thing about each other, we don't where we're meeting, we don't even know your name." John said with a scoff.

Raven curls took in a deep breath in and Hamish prepared himself for the monologue that he usually skipped when explaining things to John. He only skipped it because he was lazy but this guy apparently liked to show his smarts.

"I know you're an army doctor and that you've been sent home from Afghanistan. I know that you've got a brother who's worried about you but you wont go to him for help because you don't approve of him. Possibly because he's an alcoholic more likely because he recently walked out on his wife and I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic and quite correctly I'm afraid. As for the child, an orphan that you have illegally taken. That's enough to go on don't you think?"

Hamish inwardly snickered knowing the man couldn't get anymore on him.

With a dramatic twirl of his coat raven curls swept away to the exit only to pause when he got to the door. Looking over his shoulder he spoke once more.

"The names Sherlock Holmes and the address it 221B Baker Street." He said with a wink that had Hamish throwing his head back in a laugh he had been holding in since he first saw the man.

Once the door was shut John looked to an extremely amused Hamish. "I think I found your father Hamish." He said with a smile.

"Hamish Holmes? Ugh, you think I could take my mothers last name?" Hamish said jokingly with his tongue stuck out.

"How do you suppose we should tell him he's a father?" John asked.

"You heard the man John, he prefers texting." At this the two looked at each other and burst out into another round of laughter.

"So Hamish, tell what you observed about Mister Holmes."

"Welll..." Hamish eyes sparkled with mischief and despite the look John help but be proud.

Life for London would never be the same ever again and he couldn't be more glad for it.

* * *

><p><strong>While writing this I swear I could hear the Sherlock theme music come on! I just loved this scene when I first saw it, in that moment I just knew I would be addicted to the show and here I am a few years later waiting for season four to come out. Here's to the fans who thanks to their devotion will loyally wait for the next season even if we have to wait another year or another decade! I love you all!<strong>

**Okay, to all those who reviewed, favourite or followed, THANK YOU! I couldn't do it without you guys :)**

**QUESTION TIME- So despite this being only in it's beginning faze I have already gotten questions I which I shall now answer.**

**1) IF THIS IS SET AFTER THE WAR LIKE YOU HAVE IMPLIED (?) WHY IS HARRY IN AFGHANISTAN? AND HOW DID HE BECOME MASTER OF DEATH?**

_**Alright, yes this is set after the final battle and as for how Harry became Death, sorry sweethearts that cant be revealed until later chapters. Harry's backstory is something I want to keep as a mystery for now. Keep you all in suspense. Until then you guys can guess allllllll you want. **_

**2) WILL OTHERS FROM THE HP VERSE ENTER THE STORY?**

_**No, the reason for this is in Harry's past which like I said wont be revealed for a while. They will probably be mentioned but they wont have actual appearances. Sorry about that.**_

**3) WILL MYCROFT GET INVOLVED?**

_**Bwahahhahahahahahahahhahahahah *cough* hhahahaahahhhahahahahahaHAHAAHAHhahahaHHAHA! Lol, nah I'm sorry it's just...when is he never involved? Honestly the guy knows of everything in the bloody country. He owns the british government, he knows everything! Except when it comes to Hamish...Wont that be fun.**_

**4) DID HARRY/HAMISH REALISE JOHNS LIMP WAS PSYCHOSOMATIC?**

_**I think I answered this already...yes.**_

**Okay and that's a wrap! Thank you for reading guys,**

**Stolen with the Night~~**


	4. Cake and Dead people

**I'm baaaaaack! Did you miss me?**

**Honestly, guys, I'm not going to lie to you. The reason I haven't been updating recently is simple...I got lost on the path of life. (I can almost hear the "LIAR!" guys its the truth!...sort of)**

**Anyone know where that lines from? Its pretty easy.**

**Anywho...Desclaimer: Izzzzz all min-eh *GO HOME STOLEN YOUR DRUNK* I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>"What do you mean you wont tell me?!" John practically whined while looking into the amused eyes of his technically kidnapped ward.<p>

"Simple Johnny, I mean that I wont tell you." Hamish replied evenly before his eyes widened suddenly causing John to stiffen and move towards the seven-year old.

"Hamish buddy what's wrong?" He asked crouching down to be at eye level with Hamish, his body tense. He never liked it when Hamish was upset, something bad always followed.

As rare as it was, sometimes John had the feeling that something about Hamish just wasn't as happy-go-lucky as he seemed to be. There were times when his smiles turned bittersweet when looking at something as simple as a type of food or even a colour. Hamish seemed to both love and hate the colours red and gold. The same could be said about blue, green and yellow, preferring black over everything. When he asked about his dismal colour choice the answer was always the same. It's safe. He never understood what he meant but John didn't question further when he noticed the forced smile plastered on the young face.

At other times Hamish didn't seem to know enough about anything, despite his intellect, it was if he had been living under a rock his entire life and it was up to John to teach him how to use a mobile phone, which Hamish had been wary of first but three days later he had shown up with a model he ad never seen be used before.

John was knocked out his thoughts when a loud laugh burst from Hamish's lips and he doubled over, clutching as his stomach still laughing. The sound caused John to relax even if he didn't see what was so funny.

"S-sorry John. Its just-" Hamish took a deep breath in trying to calm himself before continuing, "I just realised something. You and him. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson, I should have seen it earlier! I mean, 221B Baker street! Merlin, silly Hamish. Isn't fate a terribly amusing thing?"

John stared confused. "I'm sorry, I'm not quite following..."

A small smile stretched on Hamish's lips before he spoke. "Oh, but you are, you just don't realise it. Sometimes a persons fate is another's bedtime story."

John held a frown on his face. What was Hamish talking about?

Seeing this Hamish just smiled once more. "Don't worry John, it'll be fun. I promise."

John sighed, "I was afraid you would say that." He was answered with another laugh.

* * *

><p>"Really John?" Harry stared up at the sheepish looking mortal with fond exasperation.<p>

From his place on the desk John ducked his head slightly before going back to what he was doing before. Internet stalking one Sherlock Holmes.

"When you told me about strange people on the internet, I honestly didn't think you'd be one of them." Harry continued baiting him.

From behind John he could see pink rising up steadily on his neck and ears. He inwardly snickered imagining that John's face somewhat resembled a strawberry, too bad he had his back to him.

John still didn't say anything while Harry shook his head fondly. Mortals. Was he honestly like this once?

* * *

><p>Harry stared up at the door of the infamous 221B Baker street with faint interest. Living as long as he did, you got used to seeing things that belonged in story books. Literally.<p>

"Do you like it?" John asked curiously from beside him while they waited for the consulting detective.

His response was immediate. "Love it." He could almost feel his doubt but he didn't blame him. His voice had come out a little monotonous.

"Really John! It's got a homey feel to it." John shot him a look, probably because they hadn't seen the inside yet.

The screeching of tires had us both looking at the cab pulling up and just as quickly leave, one Holmes making his way over to John to accept a handshake.

"Mister Holmes." John greeted.

Sherlock gave a polite smile. "Sherlock, please."

He quickly walked towards the entrance pausing to look up at the building, once again ignoring Harry. Harry rolled his eyes at the display of attitude. Either he was childish and disliked Harry for not being able to get anything on him or he just didn't like children. Likely, it was a combination of both.

John not one for awkward silences gestured to Harry. "Hamish, say hello to Sherlock."

Harry gave a lazy albeit slightly uninterested wave. "What up, Sherly." _Ah, slang is most amazing. Don't need to speak as much._

Apparently this got his attention because he swung around to stare at him. They continued the stare down for another minute before Sherlock spoke.

"My name is not Sherly. It is Sherlock or is your feeble mind unable to comprehend that." _Ohhh, touchy. Must have hit a nerve. Probably because his name is... not for his particular gender. So to speak._

"You're not Serius." Harry couldn't help it, really, he couldn't.

"I am." Sherlock replied evenly. Did he just...stick his nose in the air? Arrogant ass.

"No, i happen to know Serius. You are not Serius."

Sherlock scoffed lightly. "I think I know what my own name is."

Harry plastered a worried expression on his face while inwardly cackling. _You walked right into this one. _"You _think _you know! What kind of idiot _thinks _they know their name..." He trailed off before continuing in an innocent tone. "Do you...need a doctor? I heard stupidity is contagious. Quite frankly John can't afford anymore right now."

"Hey!" John protested, though it was obvious he was amused. Harry didn't blame him. His maybe flat-share partner was arguing with a child. Not many people do that these days.

Before Sherly could say anything the door swung open and a very small old woman smiled at them. At suddenly Harry was hit with a wave of nostalgia. For some odd reason this woman reminded him of a certain redheaded mother from his past. All warm and cozy, like family. When was the last time he had family?

"Sherlock." She greeted moving in to hug him.

Sherly accepted the greeting, placing a small kiss on her cheek. "Mrs Hudson is the landlady. She's given me a special deal, she owes me a favour. A few years back her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

John looked astonished while Harry felt a smile slither across his face, it wasnt a particularly innocent one.

"S-sorry, did you stop her husband from being executed?" John spluttered causing Mrs Hudson to laugh.

"Oh no, dear. Certainly not."

"Oh. Sorry it just sounded-"

"He ensured it." Mrs Hudson continued with a smile, cutting John off.

Sherly cleared his throat. "Yes."

His honest and care free confession had John's mouth hanging open while Harry's body trembled from trying to keep his laughter in, trying to be polite. Mrs Hudson must have seen and mistaken it for shivers from the cold because she was soon beckoning them in.

Sherly spoke from behind her as she led them upstairs. "Mrs Hudson, this is Doctor John Watson and Hamish..." He trailed off clearly asking for a last name.

Harry noticing this spoke up. "Hamish. Just Hamish."

Sherly looked uninterested but it was likely because of his 'heritage as an orphan' before John came along. It was true some orphans didn't have a last name but Harry had to admit Sherly was being careless in assuming that was the reason he had none. While he had told John he didn't have parents he never said he didn't have blood relatives and therefore must have a last name but then again, Sherly didn't know that the name Hamish was given to him by John only a month and a bit ago. If he did know, which he probably would in time, he would figure this out. Not that it mattered since nothing would be found out about him, considering he doesn't exist here. Though that could cause problems in the future.

Sherly opened the door as John hobbled in, Harry and Sherlock following.

"Yes, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John said looking around.

"Yes, my thoughts precisely." Sherly said also looking around.

"Which is why i went and moved in." "As soon as we get this rubbish cleaned." The two said at the same time making Harry cough to hide his snickers. _Awkward._

_"_Oh."

"Oh." Sherlock said repeating John before speaking quickly. "Well obviously i can straighten things out." He said moving a pillow thirt centimetres to the left not really helping the situation at all.

"I like it John!" Harry spoke up looking at the mess and he really did. It reminded him of the burrow.

"Yeah?" John smiled.

"Yup!" Harry said popping the 'p' before beaming right back at his mortal.

Looking to the left of Sherly Harry saw a skull. "Ohhhh~"

"That's a skull." John stated pointing his crutch up to point at it causing Harry to raise his eyebrows. _At least it's not a human skull. Poor kitty._

"Yeah a friend of mine." Sherlock replied distracted. "When I say friend..." _Clearly you don't have many._

_"_There's another room upstairs, will you be needing two bedrooms? One for Hamish?" Mrs Hudson asked entering the room.

"Of course we'll need two bedrooms. Hamish will be sharing a room with me. Why wouldn't we need two bedrooms?" John asked.

"Oh don't worry there's all sorts around here. Mrs Turners got married ones next door." Mrs Hudson whispered the last part.

"Yeah John! You and Sherly aren't married but you do have a kid. So you don't have to worry." Harry squealed, cheeks pink. Completely true and oh so easily misinterpreted.

"Oh my. Wait until i tell Mrs Turner about this." Mrs Hudson whispered to herself while moving to leave the room and enter the kitchen while John simply gaped before giving up to sit on a cozy chair. Seeing this Harry quickly ran up with agility only a child could have leapt on to his lap.

"Sherlock, the mess you've made."Mrs Hudson tsked disapprovingly.

"Johnny boy stalked you on the internet last night Mister Holmes." Harry said playing with a loose thread on Johns jumper.

"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked. "And just Sherlock...Hamish."

Harry mentally fist pumped in victory at Sherly's reluctant use of his 'name' but only let a small smile appear in acknowledgment keeping his head low to focus on the annoying piece of string. Besides, he liked the name Sherly.

"You said you could identify a soft wear designer by his tie and an air line pilot by his left thumb." John said.

"Yes and i can read your military career in your face and your brothers drinking habit from your mobile phone." This had Harry smiling again. Wait until he finds out about Johns 'brother.' _Damn this string!_

"How?" John asked.

Sherly didn't answer which didn't bother Harry since he already knew how but he could feel Johns curiosity. John loved it when Harry reluctantly explained each detailed thought and observation that lead to a discovery, he probably would act the same way with Sherlock. All amazed and speechless before a spillage of praises that had Harry wanting to transfigure him into a kitten so that he could keep him for all eternity.

"What about these suicides then Sherlock? I thought they'd be right up your alley. Three exactly the same." Mrs Hudson asked holding up the paper.

Harry tilted his head to the side, the tips of his hair brushing John's jumper. He certainly knew nothing about these suicides, but then again television was never his thing. Nor reading, or socialising, or mundane life. Wow, would you look at that.

Sherlock stared out the window. "Four." The sound of a vehicle pulling up had Harry turning his eyes towards the window too.

"There's been a fourth and there's something different this time."

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson asked in bewilderment.

He never answered as he pivoted on his heel to face the man who had just entered the room. Harry let his eyes rake over their latest guest. _No ring but an obvious tan line. Married for 10+ years with a now estranged wife. No immediate family to speak of. Familiar with Sherly for more than four years, at least. Despite their long aqaintance they are not particularly close. Though, he does seem to hold no light amount of respect for Sherly dearest. Nicotine patches can be seen peeking out of sleeve, so, non smoker or he's trying to quit. All in all a nice guy with a good sense of justice. Detective Inspector._

"I like you!" Harry called out to him from his place curled in a ball on top of John's lap.

The man did a double take seeing him and paused a moment to bustle up some reply. "Ah-oh- thankyou. Uh-"

"Where?" Sherlock cut him off obviously sick of his suddenly broken english.

The man sighed in relief before answering quickly, back into his element.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't come and get me unless there was something different." Sherlock fired off quickly.

"You know how they leave notes. Yeah, well this one did." The D.I said with a frustrated sigh. "Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock answered with a question.

"Anderson." Apparently that wasnt a good thing if Sherly's expression was anything to go by.

"Anderson wont work with me." _Well, you do come off as a cow sometimes Sherly. A cow with curly hair. Curly cow. Sherly curly. Sherly the curly cow~~ Sheeeerlll-_

"Well he wont be your assistant." The D.I growled exasperated.

"I need an assistant!" Sherlock growled right back.

"Will you come?"

Sherlock took a second to answer. "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

Another sigh in relief along with a half bow. "Thankyou."

"Bye Detective Inspector!" Harry yelled with a wave.

The man shot him a confused look but waved anyway before moving out. Probably because he never said anything in relation to his position.

The moment he left Sherlock jumped in the air performing the perfect double fist pump. _You truly are skilled Sherly. _Sherlock whooped with joy causing John to look confused while Harry laughed at his enthusiasm. His excitement at Sherlock's good mood earned him an eye twinkling smile from said man.

"Brilliant!" Que a half spin.

"Yes!" More jumping and fist pumping.

"Four serial suicides and then a note. It's christmas!" Passing them Sherlock ruffled Harry's hair before moving on to pick up his scarf.

_Ruffled...he...Sherlock bloody Holmes just ruffled my hair! _Harry jumped up surprising John. He raised his hands in the air squealing and confusing John.

"Four serial suicides! Four serial suicides!" Harry chimed as he danced his way behind Sherlock.

Sherlock spun around and gripped Harry by the shoulders giving a light shake a boyish smile on his face. "Four suicide notes AND a note Hamish! A note!"

He spun around once more to grab his gloves from the table before moving about.

"And a note! And a note!" Harry chimed waving his hands in the air.

"Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food." Sherlock stated more than asked as he passed through the kitchen area.

"I'm your landlady dear not your house keeper." She said already moving to make something to eat.

"Something cold will do. John have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Hamish, don't touch any of the liquids. Chances are they're poisoned. Don't wait up." He called walking out the door.

"I just decided, i like it when he's excited." Harry said jumping on the arm of John's chair.

Mrs Hudson sighed. "Look at him dashing about! My husband was just the same. But, you're more the sitting down type, i can tell." _Oh, he's really not._

_"_Well I'll make that tea. You rest your leg." She said pivoting to leave.

_Uh-oh. _"Damn my leg! Sorry. I'm so sorry." John apologised.

"It's all right dear. I understand, ive got a hip." She said placing a hand on her hip.

"A cup of tea would be lovely, thankyou." John picked up the paper.

"Just this once dear. I'm not your house keeper."

He opened up the paper to the first page. "A couple of biscuits if you've got them."

"Cake too!" Harry pitched in, once more playing with the loose string on Johns jumper.

"Not your housekeeper." She called over her shoulder.

The door swung open once more as Sherlock walked in. "You're a doctor. In fact, you're an army doctor." He said looking at John.

John placed the paper down. "Yes."

"Any good?"

Harry twirled towards John's side. "Psh! Sherly, Johnny boy was, is! The god damned best! You should have seen him on the battlefield."

John gave Harry a disapproving look. "Language Hamish."

Sherlock raised a brow. "And you have?"

"Seen him on the battlefield? Yup!" Harry said with a nod. It was not as if he was trying to keep it a secret.

"And what were you doing on a battlefield?" Sherlock drawled dubiously. Harry didn't blame him, he showed no after effects of warfare. Especially since he was physically seven or so.

"No idea!" Harry chirped happily, apparently knowing but not giving a shit.

"I see." He turned his attention to John once more. "Seen a lot of injuries then? Violent deaths?"

John shook his head. "Yes."

"Bit of trouble too I bet."

"Of course. Enough for a lifetime." John answered in affirmative.

Sherlock nodded solemnly before looking up. "Want to see some more?"

"Oh god yes." John said almost reverently before looking at Hamish. "But I cant, Hamish-"

"Can come with us. Children like dead bodies. Hamish want to see a dead person?" Sherlock asked.

Harry shrugged. He'd seen a lot of those, it came with the territory. "I've got nothing better to do. Can we get cake later?"

"Of course. Come along John the kid wants to come." Sherlock said leaving with Harry bouncing behind him.

John sputter words unable to flow smoothly from his tongue. "Wait a minute!"

"C'mon on Johnny we're leaving slow poke!" Yelled Harry from downstairs.

"Wait I said!" John hobbled after them, almost looking like a rabbit as he went down the stair case.

"Sorry Mrs Hudson. John and I are going to have to skip the tea and cake! We're going to see a dead body!" Harry said as he passed the landlady.

"All of you?" Mrs Hudson asked astonished.

"Possible suicides? Four of them? I wont waste time sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock said with excitement as he kissed her cheek with a half hug.

"Fun! Fun! Fun!" Harry chimed, hands waving about.

"Look at you lot, all happy. It's not decent." She said with a smile.

"Who cares about decent! The game Mrs Hudson is on!"

"Cake! Cake! Cake!" Harry sung as John struggled to twirl him.

Harry beamed up at the two mortals as they left. "Cake and dead people. How fun!"

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><p><strong>OOOOOOOOVVVVVVVVER! Sorry my backs killing me. I'm too young to have back problems, seriously. I'm going to go sleep now. I have school in seven hours. *Sigh* It's getting quite exhausting now. It's not particularly hard but the amounts of homework is horrible. I wish I had more time to work on my stories. <strong>

**Anyway, omfg-geigheoqwuebfwuibuiqbrgt! Who saw the Sherlolly kiss?! I know it's been a while since the episode came out but- jefbWEBFiwuefkJL G;! I can't even- just- ugggggh! It's about damn time. You get her Sherly! Oh fudgicles, guys if you didn't know about this and just read this part of my note. I beg for forgiveness. I'm too lazy to go back and add "SPOILERS!" on to this. **

**Right well, love you all,**

**Stolen.**


	5. Behind laughing eyes

Harry sat in the taxi, immersed in his own mind as it flippantly ran through the world around him. The awkward silence in the car was rather stifling but like with any other _human _inequity, he either ignored it or far forgotten it in his social depravity. So he sat, legs kicking out from under him, a stupid smile plastered like plastic on his young face and humming something nonsensical. All this while wondering, when was it exactly that he became what he was this day?

He wasn't speaking of the responsibilities he held but rather the point when death stopped disturbing him, when mortals became silly little children and the world around him a play pen. Harry didn't know but he often wondered if he still cared. Maybe not. There were times when his sanity was rather lacking and his mind ran away with him and he couldn't remember what he was doing here, still. It was annoying, vexing, frustrating. Brilliant, wonderful, _exciting_. He couldn't decide what it was, another contributing factor to what he thought was his deteriorating mind.

At the edge of his mindscape he could hear his little mortal speak to the sociopath on his right. "Where are we going?"

A good question, one he no longer asked so he tuned out the answer if the raven head was going to give a straight answer, that is. He doubted it but still. Harry continued to look out the window, watching the world pass by. He wanted to laugh at the concept, how London had changed! Even if it wasn't his London, not even his world, he still expected everything to stay still. If he had the power, he wondered if he would freeze the world in time, so they would _just stay still._ But, they, everything moved, whether it be running, walking, crawling, dragged themselves over shattered glass, they were still moving forward. Harry envied them at times, hated them at others, and loved them through out it all, because the world still turned, stars continued to burn, die, explode and create new life, people evolved and transformed along with society around them and Harry sat, watched them, never moving, never changing.

His body shook and Harry wanted to groan, what was wrong with it now? It had been so long since he had to worry about the complexities of health and the well beings of well, anything. Life was not his domain, not anymore. Looking up, green eyes clashed against worried blue.

"Are you alright Hamish? We're here." His John asked gently, always afraid to upset.

It endeared the man to Harry but at the same time annoyed him, he had no idea why. Emotion, at times took him by surprise, it had been too long since he had to use them. He had been alone for a long time. It was annoying, really, not really, it was fantastic. Another thing he couldn't decide on.

"Yay! Let's go." Harry whooped with joy, happy to run away from his thoughts.

"Hamish?"

There it was again, that worried tone that John used when afraid to upset him. He seemed to want to say something but fell silent and soon a soft smile took over his face and Harry wanted to rage at the man, to scream at him for his naivety. And then there was that small part in him that wanted to run to the former militant and bury his face in those ugly and warm, _so warm, _jumpers he favored and let John take care of him like the child he looked like, like the child he _never got to be._ But he couldn't, he wouldn't allow it all to become a thing for Harry, it was _Hamish's _and so he simply smiled back and hopped out of the car.

Only then did he notice the silent man watching the two, his sharp blue eyes narrowed in on him, watching his face with eyes of a man that could _see. _Harry paused and held in a grimace because he knew that one Sherlock Holmes had seen the raging, depressive and loving, churning thoughts and quick flying emotions of someone who didn't exist. And in his eyes, Harry swore there was a flash of pity. He had no doubt that he confused the normally unchallenged man, that despite seeing the emotions flying across his face too quick to properly register, he didn't understand the meaning behind them. So Harry took a small leway and shot the dark haired man a bitter sweet smile filled with his powerful need and longing for something even he didn't know, watching at blue hawk like eyes widened and his body froze.

And just like that Harry disappeared and Hamish stood in his place. Happy Hamish, loving Hamish, naive and intelligent Hamish, Hamish that John loved and cared for, Hamish that would protect.

"Ready Johnny?"

It was better that way. Skipping towards flashing lights he ignored the still stiff man, his burning eyes of curiosity and what ever other emotion he couldn't understand and the wonderfully caring eyes following his movements.

He hated that.

He loved that.

He didn't know anymore.

He didn't _want _to know anymore.

And he was a liar.

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><p>Sherlock watched as a dark storm crossed the boys face and oddly enough it was the most open he had seen him and though he was too proud to admit it, as with most things he immediately zeroed in on everything he could take in, in the approximately twenty-eight seconds the child- Hamish let his guard down. And what he saw disturbed him, he watched as self loathing flashed across, and small shaking pale hands curled up into balls and cut into soft flesh. He wanted to know exactly what a child could hate himself for, especially one that acted as if he was on a constant sugar.<p>

Things didn't add up with Hamish, he showed no signs aside from these mere seconds of a war ravaged mind. Just a child who was attached to an officer, who loved being coddled an yet at times there were flashes of annoyance when John mother hen-ed and then there was an almost savage love for the man that followed where he would practically leach to the mousy blonde as if he were the mother and John were the silly little child.

Sherlock watch as rage flitted across Hamish's face when watching the world around him, followed by a tender love as his entire body relaxed, his eyes became distant and dreamy and he almost swayed where he sat. A pathetic, loving smile drifting up on his lips. And then there was envy and distaste and more amusement and love.

He watched as the army doctor shook the boy long after he himself had gotten out of the taxi, he watched as pure annoyance took over the small boys face, looking about mere seconds from groaning and wrecking the world around them. He watched as a purely plastic smile, touched his lips and it was almost like poison with the way it made him feel, the way it clearly made John feel.

He watched, his entire body leaning forward, so absorbed was he when John smiled at his ward, Hamish freezing and self hate flaring once more and then hate, most disturbingly, directed at John, then more love, so much so he swore the army man glowed and he watched as it disappeared and in it's place a fake smile again as the small form leaped out of the vehicle with all the grace only a child could have.

He watched as the boy looked at him and pure panic instilled its self on his face, leaving Sherlock with the odd urge to wince but he stayed still, like a rodent playing dead, afraid that he made a move the boy would dissappear again behind a sugar high and a singing voice. He watched, his heart freezing up into a solid block of ice that he often claimed it to be as green eyes peered into what he thought might have been his soul. Begging, they pleaded with his own and for once Sherlock didn't know what for and as if giving up on him, the pleas disappeared behind laughing green and never before had Sherlock felt so inadequate, so entirely useless.

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><p><strong>Guys, it's been so long! I'm going around quickly updating my stories with small chapters, trying to get back into writing. I'm so sorry that has taken this long but with school and the like I'm afraid things have been so seriously busy. None the less,, I hope you enjoyed this little look into the mind of two main characters since we often get a vague Harry and Hamish with a mothering John.<strong>

**Reviews and the lot are appreciated. I apologize for the wait and any mistakes made. **

**Thankyou for sticking around guys,**

**Stolen.**


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